The hospital was restless. Lanterns flickered in the long, white-walled corridors as medical-nin hurried from bed to bed, their sandals clattering against polished floors. Whispers drifted through the air—rumors of impossible survival, of a boy who had awakened when so many others had perished.
Renji opened his eyes to the dim light above. His body was weak, every limb heavy, but his mind was sharp—clearer than it had ever been. The world felt raw, sharpened at the edges, as though everything around him had become pieces in a puzzle only he could see.
The sliding door creaked open.
Hiruzen Sarutobi stepped inside without ceremony. The Hokage's robes trailed behind him, his pipe resting idly between wrinkled fingers. His eyes, though heavy with age, still carried the sharpness of one who had lived through wars. He stopped by Renji's bed, studying the boy in silence before speaking.
"Renji," Hiruzen said, his voice calm and deliberate, "the fire of will lives in all of us. Even in sorrow, even in loss, it is the flame that guides the people of Konoha. It is what binds us together and keeps us strong."
Renji lowered his gaze, hiding the flicker of disdain in his eyes. There he goes again, the so-called Professor, with his endless sermons on the Will of Fire. To him, I'm nothing but a tool, a glowing ember to keep his fading flame alive. Ah, what a pervert… coming here not to heal me, but to make me a pawn.
He let the silence stretch, then spoke softly, his tone carefully measured. "Hokage-sama… let me join the Academy. I want to become a shinobi. I want to… protect."
Hiruzen's eyes narrowed slightly, the old man measuring every word. A child scarred by loss, yet asking for strength—such requests were always dangerous. Still, potential could not be wasted. After a moment, he nodded. "Very well. When your body heals, you shall enter the Academy. But remember, Renji—strength without the fire of will burns only the one who carries it."
Renji inclined his head, face a mask of grief. Perfect. While you preach about flames, old man, I see the path more clearly. The scrolls you guard, the secrets you hoard—they'll soon belong to me. First, the archives. Then your residence. Every forbidden thing you've locked away will be mine.
When Hiruzen left, the shadows stirred. Two detached from Renji's bedside and melted into the corners of the room, unseen. One drifted toward the archives and library. The other slipped silently after the Hokage, trailing him to his home.
Later that day, the air thickened as another figure entered.
Danzo Shimura's steps echoed against the floor, his cane striking the ground with deliberate rhythm. His bandaged arm rested stiffly at his side, his lone visible eye sharp as a blade.
Here you go—the self-obsessed Hokage himself, Renji thought. Didn't take long for you to crawl out of the dark, did it? You've wanted that hat for decades, and even without it you act as if the village is yours.
Danzo stopped at the foot of the bed, his voice low, measured. "Renji. You remain when others have fallen. That strength must not be wasted. Join me. With my guidance, you will find purpose. And if it is vengeance you seek, I can even help you strike down your enemies."
Renji's lips twitched upward, though he kept it hidden. How predictable. Offering me poison dressed as salvation. You want me as your pawn just as badly as Hiruzen does. But if you want to see potential, then let me show you.
He raised his eyes, and the crimson Sharingan spun into life—three tomoe whirling with deliberate clarity.
Danzo's visible eye glimmered, but his face remained unmoved. "So. The eyes awaken. Think carefully, boy. With me, you will have power."
Renji let the Sharingan fade, his tone flat and indifferent. "I will think."
Danzo's silence lingered like a coiled serpent. Then he turned, cane tapping softly as he left. From the shadows, Root operatives emerged, trailing after him.
Renji exhaled quietly. Good. Follow your master, little snakes. One of mine already follows you too. Your burrow, your weapons, your hidden scrolls—soon they'll belong to me. And if chaos is the cost, then so be it.
The polearm-shadow slipped away, gliding silently after Danzo.
Night fell.
The moon hung low over Konoha, casting silver light across tiled rooftops and narrow streets. Silence ruled the village—until the shadows moved.
The first strike came at the village archives. The hammer-shadow flowed through cracks and corners, avoiding lamps and guard patrols. Scrolls were pulled from shelves and vanished into the mind's eye—records of fire manipulation, earth shaping, water control. Guards stirred, some nearly catching sight of movement—but none left alive with more than bruises and unconsciousness.
The second strike came at Hiruzen's residence. The archer-shadow slipped past wards, bypassing seals with unnatural precision. In the Hokage's private study, rows of scrolls sat neatly sealed. Bundles of forbidden techniques, hidden records, and battle strategies vanished into emerald void. Among them lay sealed documents—jutsu analysis, private notes, and caches that should never have been touched. The polearm shadow also discovered several scrolls related to the Uchiha—kept hidden even after the clan's fall—and seized them without hesitation. By the time the Hokage's guards noticed the breach, the intruder was gone, the study emptied of its most precious secrets.
The third strike fell on Root's hidden base. The polearm-shadow descended into the tunnels, weapon blazing with emerald fire. Root operatives rushed to meet the intruder, but the clash was brutal and merciless. Blades rang, blood splattered against cold stone walls. Unlike the other raids, there was no restraint here. Corpses piled high, silence broken by dying screams. Entire storerooms of kunai, shuriken, poisoned blades, explosive tags, and scrolls of covert techniques vanished into the shadows. The base shook as detonations ripped through collapsing tunnels, sealing away what remained in fire and rubble.
By dawn, Root's stronghold was crippled, its ranks thinned, its stockpiles obliterated.
Morning brought uproar.
The Hokage summoned the elders and clan heads to council. The air was heavy with smoke from Hiruzen's pipe, and the chamber buzzed with anxious voices.
"The archives, the Hokage's residence, and Root—all struck in one night," Koharu snapped. "This was no ordinary attack."
Homura's expression was severe. "The coordination was too precise. Whoever they are, they knew our weak points and struck cleanly. That is more dangerous than the attack itself."
Danzo's jaw tightened. "Root suffered the heaviest losses. Whoever this enemy is, they move with purpose—and they knew exactly what to target."
Murmurs spread through the clans, some speculating on an external enemy testing Konoha's defenses. Some feared spies within the walls, others whispered about missing-nin probing for weakness.
Hiruzen's voice cut through the noise, calm but firm. "No ordinary thief could have done this. Someone wanted to test us, to see if Konoha can be shaken. We cannot afford division. Whoever they are, they will not succeed. Konoha must stand united."
The council quieted, though unease lingered in every glance.
Back in the hospital, Renji sat silently. The mother-shadow lingered at his side, watching, ever protective.
Within the emerald world, scrolls and weapons stretched in vast piles, glowing faintly in the void. An entire arsenal, hidden where no one else could reach.
Renji smiled faintly. So it works. What the shadows steal, they bring here—my mind's eye, my hidden vault. This is more than power. It is storage, it is safety, it is control.
He leaned back against his pillow, eyes closing. Hiruzen with his fire of will, Danzo with his false crown—they think I am a pawn. But I'm the one who moves the board. And this is only the beginning.